Till Death Do Us Part
by damsel-in-stress
Summary: It's 4 years since the death of James Norrington but his loyal, love-sick maid isn't going to let that come between them. The stage is set for misadventure and even possible romance. Sequel to "A Matter of Perspective" Reviews welcome.
1. Surprises

Wednesday. 8.30am.

Portsmouth. The Admiral's Tea Shop.

Today is exactly four years since the death of Admiral James Norrington. Funny that that date should still feature so highly on my yearly calendar.

I'd like to say that I'd grown up a little and possibly managed to move on too in those years**, **but it would be a lie.

However hard I try to pretend otherwise, I really haven't changed that much.

The anniversary of his death dawned bright and sunny, as if even the weather was mocking my obscure sadness. I opened my little teashop as usual, welcoming my regulars and trying to forget my commodore in the drudge of everyday life.

I drank a heartfelt toast to my ex-employer, but apart from that I was adamant my old heartbreak would not spoil my new life.

But as ever, when I thought that I might be happy, something has to happen and suddenly I'm no longer happy. I'd had four years of uninterrupted normalcy - something bad had to be brewing.

xXx

Wednesday. 12.00

Portsmouth. The Admiral's Tea Shop.

Noon. One half-empty teashop. Five cups of fresh tea. Three plates of homemade biscuits.

Then the bell above the door jangled, announcing the arrival of a new customer.

"Good afternoon, Miss Baker," a familiar voice called.

I smiled at Gillette as he strode up to the counter.

"Good day, Commodore," I said, my voice catching slightly on the familiar title. "What are you doing here?"

"We have a rare day off, and I thought I'd spend it with you," he replied.

I tried to look flattered but this was possibly the worst day he could have visited me.

There was much worse to come.

"I wondered if you'd like to go out somewhere?" he asked tentatively, his usual cockiness mellowed slightly by my presence.

A date? I thought grimly, but I couldn't say no.

"Of course," I replied.

"Excellent!" Gillette exclaimed, beaming at me.

I didn't have the heart to spoil his happiness. It was so easy for me to please him, just a simple smile. I couldn't help thinking of Norrington and me; I didn't want to cause Gillette the same heartbreak but I couldn't summon up the courage to explain to Gillette that he was fighting a losing battle.

There was a reason I still kept a record of Norrington's death.

Maybe Gillette would have understood if I told him I reread the last letter I'd ever got from Norrington every night before I went to sleep, or that I still had a button off his uniform that I'd never had a chance to sew back on before his death, but I doubted it.

Gillette was amazingly resistant to hints like that.

I'm sure I'd still have found myself ready to board _The Dolphin_ with him that evening.

Frankly I wasn't looking forward to the trip, not considering my bad luck involving boats, and unfortunately it seemed my bad luck was going to hold, even more spectacularly than I'd first anticipated.

After four years of uninterrupted normality, it seemed my past was back with a vengeance.

xXx

Wednesday. 9.00pm.

Off the coast of England. Aboard _The Dolphin._

This could not be happening.

I gripped the side rail so hard my knuckles turned white; I strained to see the ship bearing down on us. It didn't seem possible that we could be attacked; I could still see England behind us.

"Get below," Gillette ordered.

"It's unusual to be attacked in this situation," I heard one of the sailors mutter. "I think it's bad luck bought about by having a _lady_ on board."

I had to agree.

I'd decided long ago that I was a walking, talking magnet for foul fortune.

"This is serious, Annie, " Gillett told me. "Get below."

I complied quickly, my fear a sickening knot in my stomach.

I could see why pirates would want this ship. As well as me it carried a cargo of expensive spices, not yet unloaded since it's trip to the east. I silently cursed my luck then sent a quick prayer to the Almighty, hoping He was still listening after the volume of repetitive Norrington-centric prayers I'd sent once upon a time.

A sickening bang interrupted my thoughts. I blanched as I realised we were being fired on. I'd been involved in one battle at sea and didn't want to repeat the experience.

If I ever got out of this I feverently promised that from that day forward I would keep both my feet firmly on dry land.

There were more crashes from above, followed by the sound of running feet and screamed orders. I wanted to clamp my hands over my ears and shut out the world, but I fought the feeling. Instead I crept to the ladder, a spade clutched in my hands.

Someone started down the ladder, and I nearly had their head off with the spade before I realised it was Gillette.

"Come with me," he ordered, grabbing my wrist.

Irritated by his tone, I pulled my hand away.

"What's happening?" I asked.

"We have to get out of here," he told me.

I nodded and he took my hand again, as we snuck up onto the deck and made our way to one of the small boats. I tried to ignore the battles going on around us. It was obvious, even to me, that _the Dolphin_ was out numbered and out gunned and I didn't rate our chances too high.

Gillette helped me into one of the boats, dispatching a pirate who tried to stop us. I'd been able to see land earlier but I couldn't anymore; the idea of rowing away seemed slightly bizarre.

"Get in," Gillette ordered, and faster than I would have thought possible we were underway.

A bullet thudded into the boat beside me and I shrieked. More followed but then we were out of range. Gillette stopped rowing and the boat bobbed serenely on the water; it seemed happily oblivious to the battle raging a little way away.

As the battle reach its climax I looked away.

This wasn't my world. I was a maid at heart - I worked in a teashop. I wasn't used to pirates and cannons and death, although one way or another I'd seen my fair share of all of them.

Then behind me the ocean went quiet.

"Is it over?" I asked.

Gillette nodded, telling me the pirate ship was going. I sighed, relieved, but then paused as I noticed Gillette's face turn suddenly ashen.

"What?" I asked, turning round to see what he'd seen.

Another ship had mysteriously joined the scene and I realised with a jolt that I'd seen it before. It was a difficult ship to forget.

"It can't be-" I whispered.

As I watched it I spotted someone familiar, William Turner, calling orders from aboard the ship, but he was dead wasn't he? His crew started going over _the Dolphin_, rounding up men and helping them away from their ravaged ship.

"What's happening?" I asked.

Gillette didn't answer; he was looking at something on the mystery ship. I followed his eyes and alighted on something impossible.

"James Norrington," I said softly, not believing my own eyes.

Then I think I fainted.


	2. Complications

Wednesday. 9.50pm.

Somewhere in the ocean. Aboard the _Flying Dutchman._

I think I must be dreaming.

"James Norrington." I repeated his name a few times, as if saying it would somehow make it more real.

"It can't be," Gillette whispered from behind me.

I ignored him, my gaze fixed instead on the familiar figure of Norrington.

I nearly pinched myself but I didn't have the courage; if this was a dream it was one from which I was happy never to wake up.

I made a quick decision, probably ordered by my heart rather than my head, and grabbed the oars. Gillette wrestled them off me and started rowing instead, probably out of a misguided attempt at chivalry or maybe he just thought women couldn't row. Either way he was going the way I wanted to be going so I didn't argue.

We reached the ship and clambered clumsily out of our boat, climbing aboard the other ship without a second thought.

Or at least I tried not to think. As long as my mind was blank it kept my head from exploding with the amount of thoughts and emotions brought about by the reappearance of one man.

He was standing by the rail, his hands clasped behind his back, watching over the operation from above. He looked just like he always had; death didn't seem to have changed him at all.

"Sir?" Gillette asked, finding his voice.

Norrington turned round slowly and a look of complete incomprehension flashed across his face. He blinked and I was sure he was as surprised to see us as we were to see him.

"Andrew Gillette?" he frowned. "Annie Baker?"

I nodded, still unable to form coherent words yet.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

Gillette managed to speak. "We were aboard the Dolphin when it was attacked, and we barely escaped with our lives."

"You're not dead then," he replied, relieved.

"We're alive," Gillette confirmed, "but where are we?" He asked it tentatively, his normal self-confidence crushed by the strange circumstances.

"You're aboard the _Flying Dutchman_," Norrington replied.

"Never," Gillette scoffed, but his heart wasn't in it, I could tell he believed Norrington however much he wished he didn't.

"What are you doing here?" I asked quietly, remembering my priorities.

"What do you think?" Norrington replied, his face impassive.

"You are dead?" I whispered. I wasn't sure what answer I thought I'd get, I'd just hoped.

Norrington nodded and I gulped back a sob. This had made me relive the terrible news of his death, and they were just as hard to swallow second time round.

"What's happening down there?" Gillette asked, nodding to where the men where being taken off _the Dolphin_ and led aboard _the Dutchman_. I'm not sure if it was out of real curiosity or to steer the conversation away from what was causing me obvious distress.

"The dead are being given a choice," Norrington explained, "to pass on now or serve aboard the _Flying Dutchman_ for ten years beforehand."

"Is that what happened to you?" I asked, desperate to know what had happened to my commodore while he was away from me.

"Not quite, I was a bit of a special case," he said with a familiar self-satisfied smile. I welcomed the smile; it reminded me of my days with him before everything had started going wrong.

"After the old captain died and the new captain took over a lot of the crew chose to pass on. The ship became suddenly short of crew and I was asked for specially."

He smiled at me and I had to smile back, but it was a sad smile. I wondered what else I'd missed in four years.

"Admiral," avoice said, interrupting the moment.

Norrington took his eyes away from me and looked at the sailor who'd spoken. I frowned, irrationally annoyed at losing Norrington's attention.

"Captain says job's done, he wants to be underway," the sailor said, then he eyed Gillette and me. "More passengers?" he asked.

Norrington shook his head.

"Survivors," the sailor decided, he turned to address Gillette, "Come with me, we'll provide a boat to get you home."

That shook me out of my reverie. I didn't understand anything that was happening but one thought overrode all confusion: Norrington was here. I did not want to leave him.

Four years.

But he was _here._

I tried to put my feelings into coherent dialogue.

"I'm not going anywhere," I managed to croak. It wasn't very eloquent but they got the point.

"Annie, don't be difficult," Norrington began. "You have to leave."

I laughed, a hysterical note creeping into my voice. I think I can be forgiven for that though, I was on a ship with people I knew to be dead, one of them I had spent four years lamenting the loss of and now he'd just appeared looking like nothing had happened.

I struggled to get my thoughts out.

I just couldn't put my feelings into words strong enough for them to understand. They simply couldn't comprehend the depths of my heartbreak; even I couldn't quite work it out, so there was no way they could ever understand the strength of the emotions threatening to overpower me.

I'd found Norrington again and now they expected me to just leave him.

"Give me a moment," Norrington asked the sailor, who happily agreed. He walked away eying me slightly fearfully. He obviously wasn't used to lovesick maids.

I could tell what Norrington was going to say to us, as he turned to Gillette first. He probably thought Gillette would be easier to deal with.

"You understand don't you?" Norrington began. "This ship carries the dead, and you are still alive. You have to leave."

Gillette nodded. "It was nice seeing you, sir," he said hesitantly, and I knew Gillette well enough by now to tell that that was heartfelt.

Norrington turned to me. "I'm dead, Annie."

He couldn't have put it more bluntly.

My shoulders sagged and my heart dropped down into my boots. At my desolate expression something flashed across Norrington's eyes.

"Annie, I'm so sorry. I know you must have-" He didn't have to continue, I knew what he was getting at.

It surprised me how much he seemed to see as he looked at me then; it had never been like that during life. Maybe he'd just never properly looked at me before.

"You've got your whole life ahead of you," he continued trying to persuade me. "You can't change the fact that I am dead and you are alive."

"I wouldn't say that," I whispered, eyeing the dark waters beside me and contemplating my swimming abilities. It was a good plan, as long as Gillette didn't dive in and save me.

"Don't you dare!" Norrington growled. The venom of his words took me aback. "Promise me you won't even think about doing that!"

I was on the verge of tears.

"I just want to –" I struggled to find the words. Years of living with Norrington hadn't helped my ability to express my feelings.

"I just want to be with you," I finally managed.

Norrington's face was grim. "You can't," he said bluntly.

His rejection sliced open my barely healed wounds. He really didn't want me.

"Don't you miss me at all?" I asked in a small voice.

Norrington didn't answer, his familiar emotionless mask was back up but in some ways I welcomed it. It told me I'd hit a nerve.

Once he'd regained control of his emotions Norrington appealed to Gillette, who was standing forgotten to the side.

"You understand that she can't stay here," he said. "It's not that I don't want her-"

Norrington stopped and I latched onto his words. Maybe I was wrong; perhaps he did want me after all.

Gillette's face was expressionless. He wrapped his hand around my wrist. "Come on, Annie."

I struggled against his hold; Gillette's opinion was biased anyway. I reached out a desperate hand to Norrington and I was sure, just for a moment, he leant forward as if to take it.

Then one of the sailors interrupted. "Captain wants to set off," he hinted.

Norrington nodded. "They were just leaving."

"No-" I began but then Norrington did take my hand and helpless, I was lead away. Numbed by his touch, I didn't resist as he placed me into the boat with Gillette.

"Go back to your life," he whispered as he pushed me away. "Forget about me."

It was like telling me to stop breathing.

I had one last hope gained off something Norrington had unwittingly said earlier. "Captain Turner?" I called.

Surprised, the familiar face of William Turner appeared over the side.

"If I die do I get the choice?" I asked him.

Turner was hesitant. "Everyone who dies at sea is technically given the choice, but few actually want it."

I nodded, satisfied, a plan already forming in my brain.

"Annie, don't," Norrington ordered and my plan evaporated. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid?" he asked.

I knew what he meant and I didn't want to promise anything, but looking into his green eyes, for once full of unexpected emotion, I couldn't disagree.

"I promise," I said through clenched teeth.

Norrington sighed in relief but looking at my desolate expression, he assured me quietly, "You'll get the choice when you die, but please try to stay alive, for me."

"But that's a lifetime away," I whispered. I'd barely survived four years without him, how was I ever going to live through a lifetime?

Then a horrible thought struck me. "It's only if I die at sea, isn't it?" I panicked, thinking perhaps it was a trick and I would never see Norrington again. "If I don't die at sea the case isn't the same."

I started trying to fight my way out of the boat, but then Norrington placed a calming hand on my shoulder.

He leant down till he was at the same height as me. "I'll make sure you're a special case too," he whispered.

Then he pushed the boat off and Gillette and I floated slowly away from the ship.

I felt light headed as I drifted away, and I could still feel the touch of Norrington's skin against mine. I think that if it wasn't for Gillette looking stonily across at me I would have thought everything I'd just experienced had been a dream.

I couldn't help but be filled with hope at Norrington's unexpected parting words. Maybe my case wasn't as hopeless after all.

As we watched, the_ Flying Dutchman _slowly disappeared into the waves, slightly more gracefully than the first time I'd seen it, leaving Gillette and I alone in our tiny boat.

Gillette was silent and was looking across at me as if he was waiting for me to speak.

I looked from him, to the empty ocean, then to England, a faint blur on the horizon and pointed to the oars.

"I think we'd better get rowing," I suggested.

Well, what did he expect me to say?

Gillette nodded wordlessly and started rowing back to the shore. I sat in the boat, trying not to think or feel.

Reliving the short but incredibly important encounter I'd just experienced, I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

xXx

* * *

_A/N: A big thank you to Nytd for betaing and thanks also to all my lovely reviewers. _

_So how do you like it so far? Please leave me a little review.._ =D


	3. Setting out

Friday. 7.30am.

Portsmouth. The Admiral's Tea Shop.

The day I took my own future into my own hands.

I was sick of being ignored and forgotten, I was sick of being left behind, I was sick of having what I want constantly slip through my fingers.

Now all I had to do was put my new found resolutions into more practical plans.

Friday. Midday.

Portsmouth. The Docks.

For a few days I'd just moped around my teashop trying to shake the image of Norrington and _the Flying Dutchman_ out of my head, but somehow it was all I could think about waking and sleeping. I became obsessed with the idea of reaching it.

Then one day I couldn't stay in the house any longer. I started planning for a journey.

The thought of what I was going to do frightened me. I'd been on similar adventures before and had barely lived to tell the tale. The idea of actually choosing to go was more than a little strange to me.

I wasn't the only one shocked by my plans.

"You're mad!" Gillette exclaimed. "I forbid it!"

I ignored him and started walking towards my outbound ship.

"Are you listening?" Gillette demanded.

I didn't look at him. "I'm sorry," I replied, "but I'm going regardless of what you say."

"You'll get yourself killed!" he cried.

My anger flared up unexpectedly. "I'm not a child! I can look after myself."

Gillette seemed as surprised as I was by my outburst, his lips curled into a sneer.

"I know why you're going, and you must realise it's pointless," he told me. "Even if by some miracle you do find him, what are you going to do then?"

I kept my face stony. "That isn't your problem is it?" I said and turned away.

I hadn't expected Gillette's reaction, really I hadn't thought this through much, but his words just made me even more set on going.

I wasn't a child anymore; it was time for me to make my own mistakes.

Leaving a scowling Gillette behind, I boarded the ship.

xXx

Thursday. 8.45am.

Tortuga. The Docks.

Tortuga was just how I remembered it.

A bustling swarm of low life, seething with different people from different places with different purposes all thrown in together to create one truly terrifying hive of activity.

I forged a path through the crowds, keeping my head down and my hand on my purse. This was not the sort of place I wanted to be caught in and I scurried down the filthy streets holding my nose and doing my best to dodge all the staggering drunks and shifty eyed strangers.

I wanted to get to the tavern my cousin Annabel worked in as quickly as possible and spend as little time as I could in the dangerous dark streets. My plan though, was thwarted.

"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest." A harsh voice interrupted my thoughts and a gap toothed smile loomed before me. "Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum."

I tried to skirt round the man but he shoved his ample bulk into my way, breathing stinking breath onto my face.

"You got money for a drink, sweetheart?" he asked.

I recoiled at his rancid breath and tried to push past him, but he grabbed me by the arm, his meaty hands surprisingly strong.

"Get off," I growled

"Give a man a break, lass," he grumbled, feigning innocence then swiftly he made a grab for my purse.

I squirmed and fought, not quite able to believe I was going to get mugged in Tortuga again.

When would I learn?

It was useless; I soon found myself in a bizarre game of tug of war for my purse.

"Get off!" I shouted again and the man, losing patience with his game, cuffed me hard across the face, sending me sprawling.

He laughed and leant down to pick the purse up from where it had fallen in the dirt between us. I grabbed at it and rolled away, faster than even I thought I could move, kicking the man in the ankle as he tried to get the purse off me.

"You-" he swore and raised a fist to hit me.

He stopped though as a sword was pointed rather pompously at his chest.

"Do you want something?" A familiar voice asked my attacker.

The man didn't move, eyeing the sword and its bearer uncomfortably. He decided I wasn't worth the trouble and scurried off, disappearing into the crowd.

"Are you alright?" my rescuer asked, helping me to my feet.

I nodded, not sure whether I should how to react to Gillette's sudden appearance.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, too shocked to think about thanking him for helping me.

Gillette shrugged. "I figured you'd get into trouble on your own."

His words irritated me, probably because they were true, so I wasn't exactly gracious to him.

"I guess you'd better come along now you're here," I said grudgingly.

He smirked. "If you say so."

I lead the way to the familiar tavern, relaxing as we entered its comparative safety. I wouldn't admit it, but I was glad Gillette was there; my little adventure looked much less daunting now someone was with me.

I was surprised actually that Gillette was willing to come. He must actually like me.

Just how much he liked me though, I would find out sooner than I'd have wanted.

xXx

Thursday. 12.00am.

Tortuga. The _Bloody Buccaneer_ Tavern.

The tavern was full to bursting with revellers at various states of soberness. I elbowed my way past them, ignoring their shouts and catcalls. Gillette took exception to the way some of them were looking at me and I had difficulty making him ignore them.

Several of the sailors greeted me like a long lost friend. I was surprised they remembered me; it'd been years since I'd last come here, but perhaps they greeted all the girls like that?

When we reached the front of the bar I looked around for my cousin Annabel or another familiar face and I didn't have to wait long.

"Little Annie Baker!" a familiar voice shouted across. "The worst barmaid who ever had the misfortune to cross my path. What disaster has lead ye to darken me door today?"

I grinned, there was something refreshing about a person who said whatever popped into their head regardless of whether it would offend anyone or not.

"Good afternoon, Ted," I greeted the barman. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

Ted groaned in mock despair. "It was till ye showed up, last time ye was here me takings dropped by half."

"That's your _excuse_," I replied.

"I don't need excuses with ye, luv, I need therapy," he sighed.

I laughed, for the first time in a long while. I could never gage what Ted would say next.

Ted frowned and lent down to my level. "Who's the stiff?" he asked, pointing at Gillette.

I giggled; Gillette was looking at Ted as if he was something nasty he'd just trodden in.

"My name is Andrew Gillette," Gillette replied huffily.

"Ted," was the good-natured reply, and Ted reached out a hand for Gillette to shake.

Gillette ignored it and Ted shrugged, instead using the hand to straighten one of the buttons on Gillette's coat.

"Much better." Ted smiled, seeming oblivious to the icy stare directed at him.

Then Annabel interrupted, "Annie? It's great to see you. Why didn't you write and say you were coming?"

"It was a bit of a last minute decision," I admitted, ignoring Gillette's snort. "I'm mostly here looking for information."

"What did you want to know?" Annabel asked me.

"The _Flying Dutchman_?" I asked.

Ted cried out and crossed himself. "I knew it!" he gasped. "Yer here to bring a curse down on me establishment. _Flying Dutchman?_" he muttered crossly. "Of all the things to ask after-"

Annabel ignored him. "I know very little about that ship," she admitted, "and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Here, here!" Ted cried.

Gillette snapped. "Look, sir, if you can't say anything sensible kindly shut it!" he ordered.

Ted mimed locking his mouth up and throwing away the key.

"This is ridiculous!" Gillette groaned.

As I tried to calm Gillette down, Ted looked marginally more serious. "It's said that the _Flying Dutchman _is a ghost ship, crewed by the dead and captained by a man doomed not to set foot on land for but one day every ten years. The ship's purpose is to ferry the souls of those who die at sea to the other side." Ted's normally cheerful voice was quiet and doom-laden.

I shivered involuntarily at his words.

He spoiled the effect though by giving a bark of laughter and adding, "Of course hardly any one believes the old stories any more. They'll be telling me the Fountain of Youth is real next."

I believed them.

I wondered what Ted would say if I told him I'd seen the _Flying Dutchman? _It would probably be unrepeatable.

"Is it ever mentioned that a _live_ person could sail aboard the Dutchman?" I asked this time.

"Impossible," Ted replied promptly.

"No it's not," an unfamiliar voice piped up. "I did once."

"Leave it out," Ted replied.

I turned to the speaker, desperate for whatever information the man may have.

"He's just drunk," Ted explained.

"Am not," the man replied.

"Be quiet."

"He's telling the truth." Another voice joined the argument.

"It's impossible."

"Nothing is impossible."

I tried and failed to keep up with the conversation. So many people, some more lucid than others, were trying to get their contradicting points across. I wasn't even sure if they were telling the truth.

Things got even worse very soon.

One of the arguers threw a punch at another and a small scuffle broke out.

"Keep it calm, boys." Ted tried to intercede but more people had joined the fight.

Someone threw rum over his mate's head; another wielded a dangerous looking chair leg, a third whipped out a gun out and bullets smacked into the ceiling as someone jumped on the gunman. Fights broke out all over the tavern and soon the room echoed with the ring of steel on steel and gunfire.

I don't even think most of the fighters knew what had started the brawl, but they seemed quite happy to continue it.

I shook my head in despair.

"Bloody pirates." I muttered.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for reading, how do you like Annie's adventures so far. Thank you again to Nytd for betaing and to my lovely reviewers.._


	4. Proposal

Thursday. 9.50pm.

Tortuga. The _Bloody Buccaneer _Tavern.

And I thought my love life couldn't get anymore complicated.

I had retreated to one of the back rooms of the tavern, hiding from the fight still going on in the bar behind. I knew I would get no more information off the brawling pirates and could only twiddle my thumbs in the background till they stopped fighting and hope they would be more cooperative when they had sobered up a bit.

Gillette had followed me into the room, but I heartily wished he would just go away. He obviously didn't want to be in Tortuga and the stony expression on his face didn't make me feel any better about anything.

This little venture was not going at all how I had planned.

"I knew we would never get any help from pirates," Gillette told me, his voice twisting with contempt.

I sighed. "I'm sorry I bought us here."

Gillette looked surprised and his expression softened. "I'm sorry we didn't get any decent information," he said.

I nodded, feeling empty. "I'm going for a walk," I told him and got up to leave.

"That's a bad idea," Gillette muttered.

I ground my teeth. "You're probably right," I grumbled, slumping down into a chair. "I hate Tortuga," I groaned. I didn't like being coped up inside, I needed fresh air to clear my mind.

To my surprise, Gillette turned to me and took my hands suddenly in his, resisting my initial attempts to pull away, and instead moving even closer to me.

"I'm sorry you're in Tortuga too, it's not the place for you," he said earnestly. I tried to pull away again but he didn't seem to notice; his mind was somewhere else entirely. "I have to say this now. I doubt I'll get the opportunity with you alone again."

I gulped, not liking the sudden turn of conversation. I wanted to ask what Gillette could possibly want to talk to me about _alone_ but my mouth had gone dry.

"You must know how I feel about you, I've made no secret of it," he began. "And you must be passably fond of me by now," he continued with a wry smile.

I was fond of Gillette, but not that fond, and I just didn't know how to put those sentiments into words. Gillette seemed to be having trouble saying what he wanted to as well; he kept starting sentences then not being able to continue. Finally he just sighed.

"Would you ever be able to marry me?" he asked.

The wording confused me but I got the main gist of it. I had no idea how to respond.

"I'm sorry," I began, the words dragged out of my throat. "Gillette, I-"

"Andrew," he interrupted absentmindedly. "I've told you to call me Andrew."

I gulped again, "I can't," I managed to say finally.

"I don't understand," Gillette said, frowning.

"Not I can't call you Andrew, I mean I can't marry you," I told him, stumbling on the words.

"Why not?" Gillette asked desperately.

"I don't love you," I said simply.

"Love?" Gillette spat.

I nodded, not even trying to reply and a heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the muted sound of the tavern fight next door. Neither of us moved, and I just sat still biting back angry tears while Gillette stared a hole into the table.

Neither of us talked for the rest of the evening, the things we both wanted to say piled up like a brick wall between us.

* * *

_A/N: As usual a big thank you to Nytd for betaing and thanks to you for reading. Please tell me what you think of the story so far.. =D_


	5. Betrayal

Sunday. 9.15pm.

Tortuga. Locked away.

I said a few days ago that I didn't love Gillette; I've decided now that I hate him, I hate him with a passion that shocks me.

I sat in my room staring at the locked door and eloquently cursing my former companion with all my soul. After a disgustingly short time though, my imagination ran out and so did my fury. Hating did not come naturally to me, and my anger burnt out quickly leaving just the empty ache of betrayal and hopelessness.

Bear with me, the betrayal has messed up my mind, I need to go back to yesterday and describe the events that lead up to my present disgusted condition.

Saturday. 7.50pm.

Tortuga. The Docks.

We had found a ship.

In the cold light of morning I had interrogated the pirates from last night (their hangovers had made them amazingly pliable) and I had made some interesting discoveries.

I found two men who'd served aboard the Flying Dutchman while it was in under command of Lord Beckett and had deserted in favour of a pirate lifestyle. At least that's what I think they said; even sober they were difficult to understand.

It seemed that one of the fellows I had picked on knew a man who knew a man who was sailing under a captain determined to find the Flying Dutchman. I didn't ask why they searched for it, hoping no one would ask after my motives either. They didn't and were willing to take me along, for a small fee of course.

It was perfect.

For the first time my adventures where going according to plan.

Bright and early the next morning I had gotten up and trekked down the docks where the pirates were nearly ready to set off. Gillette was with me but I was so excited by the turn of events that I didn't really notice him. If I'd looked I'd have seen that he was even more distant than normal, and looking at my pirate companions with revulsion.

It happened when we gathered at the docks. With out warning, a group of Naval officers ambushed us; surprised and outnumbered, my pirates were soon over powered.

I was more shocked than afraid.

"What are you doing?" I scowled in indignation.

One of the officers grabbed me by the arm and infuriated, I started kicking uselessly at him.

"Let her go," Gillette ordered pulling me away from the man. "She's innocent."

"What's happening?" I asked, my anger stirring.

"We've been warned about these men," one of the officers told me. "We're arresting them."

"Warned about what?" I cried. "By who?"

This place was full of pirates doing things very much more illegal than these pirates so why were they being arrested?

I glanced at Gillette, the guilty look on his face filled in the last piece of the puzzle.

"You," I began my voice twisting in disbelief. "What did you tell them?"

"I couldn't just let you go," Gillette said softly. "It's dangerous – they're pirates."

I couldn't believe it.

"You betrayed me!" I cried.

Gillette couldn't even look at me. "You'll thank me later," he said flatly.

I laughed bitterly and as I replied I couldn't stop my voice rising about two octaves. "You can't stop me going," I hissed. "You'll have to lock me up and throw away the key."

So he did.

He actually thought it was for my own good, but how could this sort of heartbreak and pain be good for anyone?

How could Gillette do this to me?

I felt somehow everyone was conspiring to keep Norrington and me apart. I tried not to be so bitter, but in my lonely distraught condition furious 'what ifs' careered through my overactive mind. I guess there was no point in thinking about that now.

Curled up in the corner of my room, I think I would have cried if I hadn't been quite so angry. Both emotions were pointless now anyway; nothing I could do would free me from my imprisonment.

But I had some unexpected allies. My salvation was on its way.

The door clicked open; there was no fanfare or melodramatic build up, just Annabel's impish face suddenly pocked round the door.

"Come on, quickly," she ordered, her curls bouncing around her heart-shaped face.

"What?" I asked.

I stumbled out of the room blinking as I saw Annabel grasping a set of keys, and the guard Gillette had posted unconscious at Ted's feet.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Rescuing you." Annabel grinned.

I had to laugh; I really could not believe it.

"Hurry," Ted said, unusually serious.

We skidded down a corridor half creeping, half running. I had a sick feeling in my stomach as I often did in tight situations, but today my fear was touched with a slight thrill. Maybe I was getting used to adventure? Perhaps I was even starting to enjoy it a bit?

We slipped out of the building and I found myself led towards Tortuga's docks.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"This is your only chance to get away." Annabel said, "You want to go after Norrington don't you." It wasn't a question.

"How do you know?" I asked. I was sure I'd never told Annabel exactly why I was searching for the _Flying Dutchman._

Annabel smirked and Ted tapped the side of his nose. I shook my head in amusement.

"My pirates," I asked, "can they sail?"

"There isn't time to free them; you need to get out of here quickly," Annabel replied.

"How will I find the _Flying Dutchman_ then?" I complained.

"You'll have to look elsewhere," Ted told me.

I sighed and started to argue but a familiar face appeared at the end of the street.

"Gillette," I gasped and hid my face.

"Come on," Annabel ordered and pulled me towards a ship. "The first outbound boat, it's to Port Royal," she explained. "They'll take you for a very decent price."

"Thank you," I whispered to them both.

"Off you go," Ted said, embarrassed. "You owe me, lass."

I grinned. "I'll remember that."

"You better," he replied.

I boarded the ship, feeling that everything was happening frighteningly fast. My adventures were leading me around again rather than me directing my own destiny.

Surprisingly, I decided this was more fun.

* * *

_A/N: Did you have a nice christmas? Happy holidays, mates._


	6. Empathy

Thursday. 11.00am.

Port Royal. The market.

Port Royal was just how I remembered it.

A strange mixture of nostalgia and anxiety filled me as I walked down its familiar streets and passages.

As I went I couldn't resist visiting my old home, and when I saw it I found that really it hadn't changed at all. I wondered who lived there now; I just hoped they were looking after the old place.

I revelled in the memories flooding me as I continued wandering through the town. I had spent a large portion of my life here; I had just realised how much I missed it.

Eventually I found my way to the market place, the heart of my old domain.

Compared to the frantic bustle of Tortuga, Port Royal was an oasis of calm. I stood silently to one side, watching the people go placidly about their daily business. It was all so domestic, so routine; I welcomed the simple and natural feelings associated with it, nothing supernatural or difficult. It was normal.

I felt myself again.

xXx

Thursday. 5.40pm.

Port Royal. Main Street.

It had reached late afternoon. I had rediscovered most of my old haunts and reminisced probably more than was good for me.

I went down the main street searching for a place to stay. I planned to do some _Flying Dutchman_ searching tomorrow, I hadn't completely forgotten my quest, but I'll admit that it had been pushed to the back of my mind.

As I meandered down the street, a small boy scurried past me, taking me by surprise and accidentally getting caught on my dress.

Surprised we both spun round and fell over in a heap.

"I'm so sorry," a woman cried, pulling the child up and reaching down a hand to help me.

"It's ok," I laughed and got to my feet.

It was only then that I realised who the woman was.

"Elizabeth Swann?" I asked.

"Elizabeth Turner," she corrected.

"Of course," I grinned.

Elizabeth scrutinised me for a moment, "You look so familiar, I'm sure I know you?" she said.

"Annie Baker," I replied, "James Norrington's old maid."

Elizabeth remembered and greeted me warmly.

"Little Annie, it's been years. You have changed," she observed.

I had to laugh, Elizabeth and I were almost exactly the same age, but my petite size and innocent nature had always made me seem younger. Now perhaps that had changed, Elizabeth and I were almost the same height and when I looked into her eyes, I no longer felt that she had seen things I could never and would never understand.

I couldn't help looking at the child in Elizabeth's hold, and, noticing my curiosity, Elizabeth proudly introduced me to her four-year-old son, William Turner, known as Billy. Billy seemed surprised when I promptly tried to shake his hand.

"Would you like to come to our house for a bit? I'd welcome the company as we don't get many visitors these days." Elizabeth asked as Billy surveyed my outstretched hand with interest.

I agreed straight away, liking the prospect of spending time with Elizabeth much more than I would have expected.

She had featured strongly in my old life, even though I had spent most of that time trying to make myself hate her. She had stolen Norrington's heart and up to his death had never given it back, but I couldn't hate her; she'd always been so nice to me and somehow she was almost an old friend.

A little while later I was lead into the Turner house, a small but comfortable place very near the sea.

As I trekked through it, I stared with interest at the many object and pictures littering the surfaces; seashells and stones, intricate carvings of tiny boats, detailed maps, and large paintings of ships.

I noticed that despite its cluttered façade, it was actually very ordered and tidy. I was led into a perfect little clean kitchen where Elizabeth put on some tea and let Billy have a biscuit or two. He devoured the offerings but soon scuttled off in search of something more interesting to do than listen to his mother chat.

Elizabeth seemed amused by her son's silent disapproval, and I noticed how much motherhood seemed to suit her. She looked so comfortable in her surroundings that I almost felt out of place.

"What are you doing back in Port Royal?" Elizabeth asked me when we'd settled down.

I didn't reply, instead I was suddenly very interested in my cup of tea.

Elizabeth wasn't stupid and saw through me, but tactfully didn't press the matter.

Instead we talked about other things, about my life in England, her life in Port Royal and about Billy. I found how much I enjoyed talking to another woman my age, a novelty for me. Elizabeth too seemed to have a lot to talk about.

We soon found ourselves onto a more delicate subject. I wasn't sure what to say.

"I'm sorry," I said hesitantly, "about Will."

Elizabeth went very still. "I'm sorry about James," she said in answer.

"So am I." I couldn't stop myself replying.

Elizabeth smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. I realised we had more in common than I had ever thought. A wave of sympathy washed over me.

As we sipped our tea in silence, I noticed a curiously familiar painting on the wall opposite.

"Is that the _Flying Dutchman_?" I asked.

Elizabeth looked surprised. "It is," she answered shortly.

Something occurred to me that I hadn't really considered. "What do you know of the _Flying Dutchman?"_ I asked.

"Nothing," Elizabeth replied, a little too quickly.

Her expression said otherwise.

I got up and examined the painting, my fingers exploring the beautiful and haunting detail.

"Don't-" Elizabeth began but it was too late, I'd found it.

Tucked behind the picture was a collection of folded papers. I carefully slid them out and unfolded one; a map was revealed. The map itself was unremarkable, you could buy one easily and cheaply from the market, but this one was carefully and meticulously annotated in flowing script with dates, times, places and events.

It only took me a moment to see what was being annotated; it was reported sightings of the _Flying Dutchman._

"Put it back," Elizabeth ordered, her voice was quiet and her eyes were dangerous.

I ignored her, pouring over the map that could be invaluable in my search. "It must have taken you years to collect this information," I said in awe.

"Four years, give or take," Elizabeth replied.

She had relaxed a little, but she was still wary and surprised.

"James Norrington is on the Flying Dutchman," I said quietly.

"Of course, you never did quite let go, did you?" Elizabeth replied, understanding dawning. "And now you're looking for the Flying Dutchman?"

She came to stand behind me and showed me how the map worked.

"The map shows where the ship has been seen." she told me, "There are some places, perilous areas of water and seas that claim the lives of many ships, which are obvious places the ship will be called to. I have most of them marked here and I'd say they are the most likely places for the ship to show up. Obviously it can't say for sure but I think if a person was to go to a few of these placed chances are they'd soon see the _Flying Dutchman_."

It was the best lead I'd gotten and was more than I'd ever imagined I might find. I must admit finding the _Flying Dutchman_ had always been a bit optimistic but now it seemed so much more possible.

"This is amazing," I said, still slightly shocked by her dedication and ingenuity.

Elizabeth laughed. "It's a bit obsessive," she said with a wry grin, "but it was the only way to keep at all in contact with where Will is, otherwise I'd have no idea what he was doing. At least if I know he's out there and roughly where he is I feel more connected. I take it you know about the curse."

I nodded, still not sure what to say to Elizabeth. I felt so sorry for her and felt useless in the face of the grief behind her laugh.

She handed me the map. "It will help you locate the _Dutchman, _if that's what you want but be careful, the ship isn't meant to be found."

I nodded. "Why don't you come with me?" I asked. "We could find the _Flying Dutchman_ and Will."

Pain flickered across Elizabeth's face, "I can't," she replied. "It's too dangerous to bring Billy and I can't just leave him behind, he's so young still."

I wanted to cry for her.

"If- when you find them, tell Will that I'm counting down the days," she asked.

I nodded, I've had little experience giving, or receiving comfort and I could think of nothing fitting to say to Elizabeth. I felt quite useless.

As I turned to go, Elizabeth smiled suddenly. "And tell James when you find him that Elizabeth says for him to try looking at what's right under his nose for once."

I grimaced. "Thank you."

"Good luck," Elizabeth said.

"You too," I replied and left before I really did start crying.

I now had the best chance of finding the _Dutchman_ than I'd ever had but it gave me no pleasure. Not with Elizabeth heartbroken behind me; I wished there was something I could do.

Why was everything always so complicated?

xXx


	7. Chases

Friday. 5.30pm.

Port Royal. Elizabeth's House

It's funny how drastically your opinion of a person can change over a very short space of time.

For me the perfect example of this is Andrew Gillette.

The only explanation I can find for his outrageously changeable behaviour towards me is he is an idiot but an idiot who really does love me.

I just wished he'd make up his mind about things, I have difficultly keeping up with him.

At the moment though**, **things were still fairly simple; Gillette had betrayed me, I didn't like him and he had to be avoided at all costs.

My quest to find the _Flying Dutchman _had become a race.

Gillette knew I would be on the trail of the ship**,** so he too had joined the chase hoping to find me on the way.

But I didn't want to be found.

Leaving Port Royal undetected was going to be a problem**,** because as usual**, **Gillette had managed to turn up right where I was.

He had men wandering around the docks listening for whispers of anyone asking after the _Flying Dutchman_**_,_** and he himself tirelessly searched for me coming dangerously close on more than one occasion.

Escape seemed impossible.

But not for Elizabeth.

She had connections and somehow provided me with a boat and a crew of sailors crazy enough to be unaffected by the thought of searching for a ghost ship. They also didn't seem at all uncomfortable at being ordered about by a woman.

Personally I suspected Elizabeth's sailors were pirates but I wasn't about to get particular about it.

We planned to leave in the evening, Elizabeth was going to distract Gillette by telling him she had seen me in town**,** and then while Gillette was focused elsewhere we would set sail.

It seemed like a good enough plan for me.

So**, **that day the sailors got ready to leave and I spent the afternoon with Elizabeth, talking extensively about the _Flying Dutchman _and our friends on it.

I found I bonded with Elizabeth more in those few hours than I did the whole time I'd known her before.

Then when the time came to depart**, **but as secretly expected**,** things didn't go quite according to plan.

It happened as Elizabeth and I made our way to the docks.

After confiscating my dresses and petticoats**,** Elizabeth had leant me some things she said a woman really needs on trips like this**. **So**, **because I was now laden down with luggage**, **we ordered a carriage to get us to the docks.

As we stood by the side of the road clutching my bags**, **Gillette appeared at the end of the road, obvious in the uniform that he was too vain to remove even though it would have made catching me so much easier.

"Look," I hissed at Elizabeth, nodding to Gillette.

"Hide," Elizabeth ordered, and pulled me down onto the ground.

We ducked behind my luggage and had a whispered argument about what to do. I didn't doubt Elizabeth knew a lot more about adventure than me, but I did know Gillette. He may be annoying but he is intelligent and very persistent.

This escape needed careful planning.

"We should make a run for it," Elizabeth suggested.

"No, he'll see us," I retorted. "We should wait for the carriage and sneak away in it."

"He'll just follow the carriage," Elizabeth cried.

"Let's wait here till he goes," I decided.

"What if he sees us anyway?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes, what then?" A familiar voice queried.

Elizabeth and I jumped. Gillette stood above us with his arms crossed and a self-satisfied smile on his face.

"I would have interrupted sooner but that conversation was too precious to miss," he said, smirking.

Elizabeth took evasive action, slamming a bag into Gillette's midriff. He doubled over, cursing and Elizabeth dragged me to the carriage, which had arrived conveniently on time.

"Drive," Elizabeth ordered the driver. "Fast."

The driver set off at a reasonable pace but behind us, Gillette had already recovered and commandeered a carriage from a passing couple.

"Faster!" I gasped. "To the docks."

The driver seemed surprised but caught on fast, a mischievous smile on his face as he forced the carriage forward at a sudden furious lumbering pace.

Gillette had pushed his driver off and got hold of the reigns himself. He was catching up fast.

Again Elizabeth took control. My respect for her was growing daily; I was going to have to rethink my opinion of her.

She climbed out of the carriage and up to sit with the driver.

"Move over," she ordered, grabbing the reigns.

The driver did, too shock to object, and Elizabeth took control of the carriage, speeding our pace up by about half.

"Watch out!" I cried as we careered down the street, narrowly missing passers by.

Elizabeth just grinned and swerved us round a corner into a narrow street, the sides of the carriage scraping the buildings on either side.

"You're crazy, lady!" the carriage driver said, his face white.

I agreed, especially when Elizabeth just smiled and replied, "Aren't you enjoying the ride?"

I hadn't even thought about enjoyment; I'd been too busy clutching the side of the seat and trying to keep my dinner down.

But we still hadn't managed to lose Gillette.

"Annie!" Elizabeth called down, her words nearly snatched away by the wind. "When we go past that shop jump out and I'll keep driving. Hopefully Gillette will keep following the carriage."

I blanched. "Jump out?"

"You want to find the _Flying Dutchman, _don't you?" she demanded.

Why did people keep asking me that? Of course I did, I just didn't want to die so early in the attempt.

"Good luck!" Elizabeth called down, grinning and looking more alive than I think I've ever seen her.

Gritting my teeth, I sighed and prayed silently, hoping this wouldn't be the last thing I ever did.

Then I threw myself out of the speeding carriage.

I later found out that Gillette had followed the carriage, unaware that I was lying on the ground behind him, but at the time all I could do was lay on the pile of sacking I'd fallen on and seriously wonder if I'd broken anything.

In the stories they never end up incapacitated after one measly carriage chase. In the stories they survive everything and live happily ever after.

I was just hoping to survive.

As it turned out, I hadn't broken anything and I managed to scramble groggily down to the docks and get onto my ship.

We set sail leaving Gillette behind.

I knew he would follow me and probably find me sometime, but he had better watch out, there was no way he was stopping me.

This time I would get my happily ever after.

xXx

* * *

_A/N: As usual maximum thanks to Nytd for betaing and to you lovely reviewers! By the way I do really live for reviews.. _


	8. Drowning

I was drowning.

I knew I couldn't hold my breath much longer, not with the waves crashing down on me from above and my heavy dress pulling me down deeper.

I was frightened, but also irritated.

After getting so close to my goal I was going to die here, now, so ingloriously.

I felt that somehow I had lost and I wasn't feeling exactly gracious about it.

It's funny the things you think about in your last moments.

xXx

Tuesday. 5.40pm.

Somewhere in the Sargasso Sea. Aboard the _Lost Star._

After a long and arduous sea journey and a crash course in map reading, I had finally reached my first destination. It was a perilous area of sea that had claimed the lives of many honest, and lots of dishonest sailors.

I didn't know exactly what I was planning to do now, scuttle my own ship, or wait for another boat to come along and sink it?

This was the place the map said the _Flying Dutchman _had been spotted most at, and therefore was the most likely place it would appear. But really I hadn't thought much past actually getting here.

The captain of the ship seemed content to sit around and wait for something to happen; I wasn't so blindly hopeful. I spent a major part of my time sitting in my cabin staring at the wall and trying to come up with a plan.

All my life in Port Royal been planned for me, a rule to govern every situation. I'd never really had to think for myself until I'd moved to England, and even then things were still fairly simple.

How things had changed since then.

The person I'd been in Port Royal and the person I was now felt like almost separate people. I wasn't even entirely sure who I'd prefer to be. I would find out soon enough.

It was early afternoon and a heavy fog had fallen over the seas, cloaking the ship in a thick dampening mist. Everything seemed muffled, and even the colour appeared to have been washed out of the sky.

As if in response to the depressing weather, the crew had become very sedate and everyone seemed to feel the need to converse in whispers.

I retired to my cabin early with a headache caused by the oppressive atmosphere. As I had nothing else to do, I eventually fell into a restless sleep, which meant I missed the start of the action.

By the time the sound of shouts and gunfire had finally woken me, it was late evening and a shipload of vicious merciless pirates had sailed up beside us and were making a crazed attempt to board us.

We were in trouble.

xXx

Tuesday. 7.30pm.

Somewhere in the Sargasso Sea. Aboard the _Lost Star._

I'd been in pirate attacks before, two actually, and I just hoped this wouldn't be third time unlucky.

Up till now I'd been enjoying my adventures, the slight thrill always accompanying the fear, but this was different. Before I'd just been playing at adventure, this was so much more real.

I'd never been in any proper danger from Gillette, but in this situation I suddenly saw how easily I could be killed.

But surely, I couldn't really die, could I?

The fight was quick and violent; I locked myself in my cabin, praying I would be overlooked. Of course I wasn't.

A couple of pirates tried to knock down my door and I pushed a cabinet in front of the entrance to try and stop them getting in.

I screamed as they punched their way through the wood of the cabinet, for the first time truly terrified for my life.

They clawed through the splintered wood, stopping only when I smashed their outstretched hands with a candlestick.

They came back though, brushing away my defences with insulting ease.

"'Ello, lass," one pirate said, leering at me.

Angry and afraid, I hit at one of them with a glass bottle that smashed on impact. Glass showered everywhere and in the confusion I ran, ignoring the snarls of the injured pirate and the pain of my cut hands.

I struggled onto the deck, tripping over something as I climbed the stairs, realising belatedly that it was a body.

I fought back bile; I'd seen death before but never at such close quarters.

Desperately I staggered around the deck, unarmed and vulnerable and a pirate inevitably noticed me. Where were all the other crew when I needed them?

The pirate swung an axe towards me and I ducked. It missed me by inches and I used my own momentum to crash into the man's legs, knocking him over. I struggled to my feet first, kicking him back down before he could get up to me.

It's not that I am particularly brave or good in a fight, in fact, I am clearly not, but this was life or death.

My survival instincts, however feeble and ineffectual they might be sometimes, took over completely.

I ran, perhaps looking for somewhere safe to hide. Instead I just ran into more pirates.

Turning, I hurried along the deck, ducking into a cabin, ducking out of it as I saw the pirates lurking inside it.

I staggered back on deck, bumping helplessly into more pirates.

There was nowhere else for me to go.

Then came the most unexpected and probably the biggest stroke of luck in my entire life.

Out of the fog came a ship, and at the helm was Andrew Gillette flanked by Annabel Baker and Ted O'Connor with Elizabeth Turner standing still behind them.

I thought I must have been hallucinating.

I laughed in the midst of the chaos as Gillette led his crew onto my ship and started fighting back the pirates.

I staggered back against the cabin wall and watched, my mind quite blank.

Gillette fell back to my side.

"You have a death wish, don't you?" he snarled.

I grimaced. "It's a good thing you're always here to save me then, isn't it?"

Gillette scowled and I knew he had a lot to say to me, but he didn't have time in the middle of the fight.

"I'm not finished with you," he told me.

"Neither am I," I promised. He had after all, tried to lock me up.

Gillette hesitated. "I'm sorry," he said hurriedly. "Now just get off this ship before it sinks."

"What?" I asked.

"The ship is sinking," Gillette told me, and then turned to fight another pirate.

I was confused and disorientated by the shouts and mist. I stumbled away, seeing now that the ship was in fact sinking; water washed up on deck and the whole boat listed dangerously to one side.

"Annie." Annabel had come out of the confusion and grabbed me by the hand. "This way."

I followed her obediently, the fight singing in my ears and my fear beating in time with my heart.

She pulled me towards the side of the ship, ready to jump from one to the other. A volley of gun shots stopped us.

"Get down!" I shrieked and the two of us ducked behind a crate.

"We have to get off this ship!" Annabel cried.

"You go one way, I'll go the other," I decided, and we did.

Rushing from our hiding place, we ran in opposite directions, desperately making one last bid to get off the sinking vessel.

I scrambled to the side, stumbling at he sound of bullets ripping up the wooden planks below me. I jumped, avoiding the bullets, but instead falling short and crashing against the ship's side. The already weakened wood buckled and split as I hit it and my world spiralled away from me.

I fell backwards off the ship, grasping desperately at the empty air.

I hit the water hard, my breath knocked from my body and my eyes blinded by the black water swamping me.

Terror gripped my heart as I sank into the darkness, but I struggled back to the surface again, breaking the barrier and drinking in deep gulps of air.

The ship suddenly seemed so far away. I caught tantalising glimpses of it as I bobbed above, then below, then above, then below the dark water. I tried to call for help, but I just swallowed mouthfuls of salty seawater and choking, sank again.

Everything had become a terrifying kaleidoscopic of black, blue and grey; I fought against the vicious waves but simply got pushed even deeper.

As I thrashed about aimlessly, I realised with a sick feeling I couldn't tell which way was the surface anymore.

I was drowning.

The thought scared me, not so much that I was dying, but how little I minded. Death seemed a kind release from the pain and pressure of the angry ocean.

I should keep fighting, however fruitless my plight was. I did, kicking and swimming for all I was worth, it was pointless yet oddly satisfying.

I hadn't given up, not this time.

As I felt myself using up the last of my strength, an odd thought occurred to me, wasn't your life supposed to flash before your eyes in your final moments?

I didn't see anything except the pitch black of the crashing water.

I felt oddly cheated.

Then an image floated past, the familiar figure of James Norrington; so clear he could have been in the water beside me.

That's better, I thought absentmindedly.

Then I surrendered myself to the uncaring sea.

xXx


	9. Revelations

Tuesday. 9.40pm.

Somewhere in the Sargasso Sea.

"Annie."

The voice was insistent, worried and urgent.

"Annie?"

I ignored it; I was perfectly comfortable where I was thank you very much.

"Annie!"

The voice had started shaking me now as well. I opened one crusty eye and licked salt off my lips.

"What?" I croaked, mentally wishing the voice would leave me alone.

"Annie!" the voice cried and someone hugged me fiercely.

"Am I dead?" I asked when they released me.

"No," came the curt but relieved reply.

I frowned, that couldn't be true. I opened my other eye and attempted to sit up.

"James Norrington?" I asked, finally recognising the speaker. "I must be dead," I deduced.

Although, I hadn't expected Heaven to look so much like the _Flying Dutchman_ or for me to be quite so sore when I got there.

"You're alive, but I may have to kill you myself," Norrington told me.

I laughed, not entirely lucid. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," I murmured dreamily.

"Do you have any idea how close you came to death?" he demanded, his eyes dangerous.

I just smiled at him. I was most probably dreaming so I might as well just enjoy his closeness and not worry about little things like nearly dying.

"This venture was probably the silliest thing you ever did, you have no idea-" He started ranting but I wasn't listening.

Instead I giggled lightly at his expression then sank quietly into comfortable unconsciousness.

"Annie, are you listening to me?"

"Annie?"

xXx

I awoke in a small, clean cabin, lying on a soft bed, feeling like I'd been fed through a mangle.

I was alive. Only in life could I manage to smart quite this much.

In many ways I wished I hadn't woken up at all. I'd been floating in a beautiful dreamlike state of complete contentment and the cold, sharp world I'd woken up in was different, and nowhere near as nice.

I quietly slipped off my bed, wincing slightly, and hesitantly I crept out of the cabin onto the deck.

I didn't know where I was. The ship looked vaguely familiar but my mind was slightly fuzzy; my dreams and real life had blurred into each other and I really wasn't sure what was happening.

My heart leapt at a familiar face and I clung to that reality, anchoring myself.

"Ted," I called, hobbling over to his side.

Ted turned to me, beaming. "Good to see ya, Annie, we thought ya were a goner for sure."

I laughed, there seemed little else to do in reply.

"What happened?" I asked, "And how did you get here?"

My own memory was still a little hazy and I wanted to sort things out in my mind.

In fact, the story was fairly simple. Ted began it with me leaving Tortuga and told me how he and Annabel had figured I would get into all sorts of trouble and had decided to come after me. They'd arrived in Port Royal a day after me and found Gillette there trying to wrestle my location off Elizabeth, who refused to tell him on the grounds that he would on try and stop me. Everyone had started arguing after that and poor little Billy Tuner had ended up breaking up a fight in his kitchen. Then surprisingly, Annabel took Gillette aside and somehow managed to bring him around to her way of thinking.

Ted winked at me.

"Ya'd better watch those two," he told me. "Sparks flying and all that."

The thought of Annabel and Gillette together was so absurd that I giggled and begged Ted to get on with the story.

There wasn't a lot else to tell; the four of them had sailed after me and finding me in predictable peril had set about rescuing me.

It made sense.

"Where are the others?" I asked.

"Around," Ted said vaguely, waving his arms about randomly. "They were very worried about ya," he told me. "Gillette especially. Don't be too hard on him. He was only doing what he thought was best, not his fault he's a - "

"Thanks," I cut Ted off. "I'm not angry anyway."

I really wasn't, there was little point in me holding a grudge, I'd only forget about it after a couple of days.

"Ya don't really look too happy about it," Ted observed.

"It's not that," I told him, my mind had already wandered onto something else. "It's just after all that I still haven't found the_ Flying Dutchman._ I've failed."

The thought made me feel completely lost and drained. What was I meant to do now?

To my surprise Ted grinned, "Observant lass, ain't ya?" he laughed. "Look around," he ordered, "it's the _Flying Dutchman _yer standing on."

My mouth dropped open. I stared stupidly around me.

"That other ship was going down so _the Dutchman_ came along and then it was yer dead commodore who saw ya sinking and saved ya."

I hadn't been dreaming I realised with a jolt.

"And he's still here?" I demanded, excitement and fear flooding me in equal measures. "I mean the ship didn't leave?"

"Nope," Ted assured me. "They're taking us home on the _Flying Dutchman_. You see, Captain Turner expressed a wish to talk to Mrs. Lizzie Turner. That's where they are now. In his cabin. Talking."

I missed Ted's amused innuendo as my mind was still trying to come to terms with where I was. Then to make things worse, a familiar figure wandered around the corner.

"Lookee who it is," Ted muttered, smirking.

My heartbeat quickened embarrassingly much, and I couldn't stop my treacherous feet from pulling me relentlessly towards James Norrington as soon as I saw him.

He didn't seem to mind too much and he smiled at the sight of me; his pace quickened as he strode to meet me.

Then to my surprise, he didn't object at all as I flung my arms around his neck and hugged him desperately. He hugged me back with sudden warmth, stroking my salty hair as I buried my head in his cold shoulder.

"You are a very, very stupid person," he told me softly.

I half laughed, half sobbed. "But I'm nothing if not persistent," I muttered into his jacket.

"No," he replied and released me, "I've noticed."

I smiled faintly as I forced myself to step away from the embrace, and I couldn't help glancing around to see if anyone was watching us. There was no one there. Ted had disappeared, but somehow I was sure he was still around, watching from not far off and smirking.

Meanwhile, Norrington coughed quietly as he pulled away from me, the embarrassed little cough always following any show of emotion towards me. I laughed slightly for some reason, amused by this, but the laughing only hurt my throat.

I winced and as I did I saw Norrington's jaw clench.

"Looking for the _Flying Dutchman _was the most foolhardy thing you ever did," he told me. "You're only one girl and the world is such a dangerous place."

I saw anger in his eyes but something else too. Unfortunately, I was in no mood to decipher his thought right now.

I scowled. "I think I know that by now," I said curtly. The way he seemed to manage to treat me like a helpless child was getting on my nerves.

"Do you?" he asked. "You nearly died – "

"And yet here I am alive and well, while it is you who is dead," I interrupted, rankled.

Norrington opened his mouth to retort then shut it; a smile tugged at the corner of it.

"I'm glad you're alive," he said, smiling at me openly for the first time in what felt like years.

He had no idea how much those simple words meant to me or how much his smile melted my heart and quickened my pulse.

If he did, I wondered if he would ever smile at me again?

A heavy pensive silence had fallen over us, and I couldn't think of anything to say. I'd spent so long fighting my way here that now I was where I most wanted to be, I didn't know what to do with myself. There was so much I wanted to say and this was the perfect opportunity to say it, but I couldn't summon up the courage.

I'd been attacked by pirates and been less frightened than this. What was wrong with me?

Completely oblivious to my inner turmoil, Norrington stared out at the dark ocean, eventually breaking the silence politely.

"Your cousin is here, you know," he said, "and her friend."

I nodded dumbly attempting a polite smile.

"As is Andrew Gillette," he continued.

I nodded again, brilliantly.

"And Mrs. Turner," he finished. "She didn't want to leave her son behind, but she decided she had to come. She says you inspired her to do so."

I tried another smile and failed miserably. I was glad Elizabeth was here, so she could be with Will for a while, but I couldn't help feeling sudden stabs of jealousy.

"I've never seen her son. He would be four now," Norrington had started musing. "I wonder if he takes after Elizabeth or Turner?"

Was it my imagination, or had Norrington completely forgotten I was there? Was I being silly, or was his mind now completely occupied with thoughts of Elizabeth?

I was being silly, but in some ways I was right.

It wasn't really jealousy - it was fear.

I realised in that moment that I had come this far, wished and fought and cheated my way, only to find that things hadn't changed.

Norrington was still Norrington.

I couldn't go back to how things had been before. It wasn't enough. I needed more and it broke my heart to think how unlikely my dream seemed even now.

A sob escaped me and I hurried away before he noticed my confusion of emotions.

"Annie, what's the matter?" he called after me.

He really had no idea. I laughed through my tears as I disappeared into my cabin.

xXx

Tuesday. 11.00pm.

_The Flying Dutchman. _My Cabin.

"What are you talking about?" Norrington's confused voice drifted through my cabin door.

"You can be a very dense person sometimes, Admiral." Annabel's insulting lilt was blown to my ears. "You really have no idea how she feels about you, do you?"

I sat bolt upright, hoping this wasn't what I first assumed it to be.

"I don't understand-" Norrington began, but Annabel cut him off.

"Maybe if you listened for once you'd know," she said.

I could almost see Norrington's stunned expression. "How dare-"

"I loved her," Gillette interrupted; his normal half-mocking voice was different, emotional and angry. "I really did love her, but she wouldn't have me because she always loved you."

"And you stand around talking about Elizabeth?" Annabel continued, sounding surprisingly like Gillette. "How do you think that would make her feel?"

"But – what?" Norrington seemed at a loss what to say. "This isn't about Elizabeth," he tried.

I could almost hear Annabel raise her eyebrows.

"This is ridiculous," Norrington said in disbelief. "I'm past all this, even if I did still love Elizabeth it wouldn't matter. Plus I'm dead. I think I'm safe from life's pain and heartbreak."

"How wrong you are, Admiral," Annabel said with annoying knowingness. "Not if our Annie has anything to do with it."

I nearly swallowed my tongue. I wanted to run out of the cabin stop Annabel from continuing, but I didn't have the courage.

"What? You must be mistaken," Norrington began.

"No mistake. She loves you," Gillette said stiffly.

"Who are we talking about here?" Norrington asked, almost as if he was afraid to hear the answer.

"Annie," Annabel replied, "Annie Baker."

In the deathly silence that followed her statement, I buried my head under my pillow and bit down on my tongue to keep from shouting.

"Oh," Norrington said slowly. He gulped. "I just wanted to be sure I'd understood properly." There was another pause then he swallowed painfully. "I need to go check on the crew - " he murmured unconvincingly. "Good day."

I heard his rapid retreating footsteps and wondered furiously what he was thinking.

I doubt very much I would ever find out.

xXx

* * *

_A/N: Thank you so much to Nytd for betaing this chapter. And thank you to all my reviewers! You are all amazing.. _


	10. Conversations

Thursday. 11.40am.

_The Flying Dutchman._ My cabin.

How did it come to this?

I've locked myself in my cabin, refusing to talk to any of my friends while somewhere on the ship James Norrington is skulking, avoiding me expertly.

I think he honestly believed that if he avoids me and I don't see or speak to him I would miraculously stop loving him.

I'd spent four years believing him dead and never really stopped loving him. I think there was a flaw in his plan.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. One of the real reasons I'm here is a conversation I had earlier, a talk I hardly want to remember.

Thursday. 9.20pm.

_The Flying Dutchman._

"James Norrington," I said as I came to stand beside him.

He stood by the side of the ship looking out at the quiet ocean; he didn't register me as I approached or spoke so instead I reached out a hand and tapped him on the arm. He jumped, almost as if he was snapping out of a daydream.

"Annie," he said, surprised at my appearance, then he quickly composed himself. "Good evening." He said politely.

"Good evening, Admiral," I replied stiffly, with a hint of sarcasm. The polite, reserved way he was treating me now had started to upset and annoy me.

"Are you well?" I asked when he ventured no more conversation.

"Yes, of course," he replied, "Yourself?"

"Always," I answered.

"Good." He nodded. "Excuse me."

He turned to go.

I drew in an angry breath. I needed to talk to him and I knew if I didn't do it now we'd reach land and I'd never say what I wanted to say. My desperation added to my courage.

"What do you think avoiding me will achieve?" I asked, surprised how sure my voice sounded.

He froze. "I'm not avoiding you," he replied, but he couldn't look me in the eyes.

I raised my eyebrows. "You're not?"

He sighed and came to stand back beside me. He looked out to sea, his eyes unreadable. "Once we get you back things will be alright again. You can return to your life and forget about me. I can return to my task. It's better this way."

"I won't forget you," I told him.

"You should," he replied.

I drew a shuddering breath. "If you want me to I will go."

It hurt even to say it, but at least then I would know one way or the other. I'd be pleased to be rid of the weight of that heavy question mark.

He didn't answer. I tried to see what he was thinking but there was a familiar impenetrable mask over his emotions, and I couldn't tell. I appealed to him with my eyes but he didn't look at me.

I swallowed my pain, hope and fear and turned away, choking down my heartbreak and desperation. He hadn't even registered my existence. It would be better to just go.

I turned to leave, my upset evident on my pale face.

"You make things so difficult," a tired voice said behind me.

I spun back around, entreaty in my eyes. Norrington was looking at me now, his green eyes filled with sudden emotion.

"I was safe here. I could work hard for a decent purpose and not worry about the things that had been so complicated throughout my life. I thought I left all that behind. Then you turn up and bring it all hurtling back." He gave a short laugh. "You even brought Elizabeth."

No noise came out of my mouth as I helplessly opened and closed it, tears swelled in my eyes and spilled down my flushed cheeks.

"I think I will go," I finally managed to croak.

He didn't say anything. The heat had gone out of his expression and he had turned back to the ocean, his eyes cold.

"Do you want me to go?" I asked, pushing him.

He wouldn't answer me.

I turned away to hide my expression, then feeling totally defeated, I left, my heavy heart weighing me down as I stumbled away from him.

Did he wish I hadn't come? It certainly seemed that way. As I hurried away I couldn't help angry tears growing in my eyes and I took refuge in my cabin.

Having my heart break was bad enough, having it break in public would have been horrible.

I shut the door quietly, then slumped down on my bed and stared hopelessly into the middle distance.

What ever happened I was not going to cry. That would have been pointless.

A moment later I realised I was never going to keep that particular promise.

Thankfully there was no one there to see me weep.

xXx

Thursday. 11.45am.

_The Flying Dutchman._ My cabin.

I stopped crying a while ago. Now I just feel empty.

I haven't moved from my cabin, even when Ted threatened to break down the door. Instead I've been reflecting bitterly on my life, wondering how it is I have ended up here.

I wondered if, in its smallest most basic form, did James Norrington ever love me.

He certainly didn't seem to now.

But once, when I was his maid, I think he did.

I was once important to him, an integral but unnoticed part of his life, part of the furniture. He never needed to wonder how he felt for me and he never wondered how I felt for him.

He could never have imagined I loved him in the way I did.

I agree with Annabel, he can be so dense sometimes.

My feelings for him when I first met him were so blatant and unashamedly obvious that I hardly believed he could have missed them.

But he did.

After all these years most sensible girls would have given up and moved on, but I freely admit I am not sensible.

He did like me, unthinkingly, and it was those unthinking acts of kindness and love that have kept me so pointlessly infatuated with him for so long.

But now he does know how I feel. And my life isn't looking too good.

I needed to stop thinking about things; I was only making myself feel even worse.

I needed something to occupy my mind and keep me busy. Inspiration hit at the strangest moment.

I was rummaging in a cupboard looking for a handkerchief, mine was somewhat spent, and to my surprise I found a bucket.

Inside that bucket were a sponge, a brush and a duster.

I had found the perfect thing to keep my mind off James Norrington.

xXx

Thursday. 1.00pm.

The _Flying Dutchman._

"What are you doing?" the sailor asked. He was looking at me, amusement and confusion in his eyes.

"I'm cleaning," I said without looking up.

I knelt on the floor scrubbing furiously at the panels beside me. I had already dusted my way from my cabin to here, and now I'd started on the woodwork.

The sailor seemed at a loss as to what to say to me, and after watching me work for a moment he abruptly left.

I stopped scrubbing to watch him go. It was strange, I obviously knew there was a crew on the_ Flying Dutchman,_ but I had never really seen anyone.

The ship was so quiet. It was unnerving sometimes.

I found the atmosphere on the ship thoroughly depressing because it was in fact, a ghost ship.

Although it did look a lot less daunting after I'd wiped away all the cobwebs.

Satisfied, I went back to work. I'd been doing this for the whole morning, brushing and dusting and wiping and washing. Already the place was looking considerably cleaner and I was at the height of good cheer.

I was never happier than when I was working; it gave me something to do other than think, and I felt that finally I was doing something worthwhile.

I started humming and that mixed with the noise of my work attracted even more crewmembers.

"You're cleaning?" one sailor asked, bemused by my antics.

"It doesn't need it," another observed.

I laughed and got to my feet, wiping my dirty hands down on my apron. I noticed I'd attracted quite a crowd.

"Want to help?" I asked holding out a broom.

The sailors looked at me. Then back at each other. Then slowly they started to smile.

xXx

* * *

_A/N: I'm running out of things to say here.. As always, thanks to Nytd for betaing and everyone for reading. I love all your reviews, they do make my day.. :)_


	11. Dancing

Thursday. 1.30pm.

The _Flying Dutchman._

The normally empty deck was full of people. Some were sweeping the floor, others wiping the railings, others repairing the woodwork.

Elizabeth was washing the window to the captain's cabin while Will Turner watched amused. Annabel was painting the doors, much to the chagrin of Gillette who followed her around unnecessarily asking if he could help.

I sat in the corner sewing up holes in my old clothes and watching in amazement as the sailors, so reserved and lifeless before, laughed and chatted about the most mundane things.

The mood on the ship had completely changed and I wondered at how little a push they had needed to start this unplanned party.

"A song?" I suddenly heard Annabel ask.

The sailors laughed and several shook their heads.

"Please," Annabel insisted, fluttering her eyelashes. "For me?"

The crew laughed as a couple of sailors immediately got to their feet. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Gillette bristle and take a step closer to Annabel.

I hid my grin behind my sewing.

One of the sailors started singing a sweet love song to Annabel, but one of his friends threw a sponge at him and he stopped abruptly, swearing.

Everyone laughed and instead several of the crew launched into a rowdy song I hadn't heard before.

In the course of the afternoon I learnt several new songs, most of them featuring words I had never heard before.

And I enjoyed every minute of it.

Thursday. 7.30pm.

The _Flying Dutchman._

It was getting late, most actual work had stopped and the crew were congregated on deck shamelessly joking around, aware how unlikely it was they would be disciplined for it, as even the captain was sat on deck completely involved in his conversation with Elizabeth.

Tired of my sewing, I was just thinking about going to talk to Annabel and Gillette when I saw Norrington come up on deck.

I hadn't seen him all day. My work had successfully stopped me thinking about him for a time, but the effects were wearing off. I wondered what he'd been doing all day.

I sat still, contemplating going and talking to him, but I couldn't think of anything to say. As I argued with myself about it I didn't notice Norrington had neatly solved my dilemma as he came over to me himself.

I was hunched over my sewing, chewing my finger in thought. I didn't see him bend down beside me.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked, amusement in his voice.

I jumped, dropping my sewing in surprise. He picked it up for me, placing it carefully back on my lap.

"Thank you," I said, finding my voice with difficulty.

He nodded, not bothering to sit down. Instead he stood above me and I stared openly at him as he surveying the deck.

"I never thought I would see that on _the Flying Dutchman_," he observed, indicating the laughing crew.

I smiled to myself, pleased at the obvious change in them.

Norrington looked back at me. "You did well," he said simply.

I tried to keep the blush from exploding across my face. "I hardly did anything," I told him truthfully.

He smiled faintly at me and I blushed even more. I silently scolded myself. How could I ever hope to talk to him if I turned into a helpless wreck at his slightest look.

"Whatever you did, it worked," he said. "Have a good evening," he finished and walked slowly away.

It was as if he'd said what he needed to say and left it at that.

I got to my feet, sick of sitting on my own, thinking. I picked my way through the boisterous sailors towards where Norrington was now standing a little way away from the main party.

I was not going to let him avoid me today. The rowdy atmosphere infected me, my inhibitions appeared to have been given the evening off.

"Why don't you join the rest of the party?" I asked him.

They seemed to have moved on from singing now and several had called for dancing. Annabel especially seemed to be orchestrating that and had persuaded several sailors to get out some instruments and play them, if not with skill, at least with enthusiasm.

Norrington seemed surprised by both my reappearance and my question. "Don't you find anything strange in the thought of a dead man enjoying a party?" he asked.

I pretended to think for a moment. "Not really, no," I replied.

He shook his head in defeat. "You amaze me sometimes," he said.

I don't think it was a complement but I grinned anyway. He started to smile back, but then seemed to catch himself. He looked away and I shifted uncomfortably, thinking he was going to walk off again.

To my surprise he turned back to me instead. He couldn't look at me, but he unexpectedly asked a halting question. "And you don't find anything strange in the thought of loving a dead man?"

I could tell the answer was important to him.

I let my breath out very slowly, so my answer wouldn't be too immediate. "Not really, no," I replied with just a hint of amusement.

He smiled faintly but tried to keep his face smooth. "I think you should," he said seriously.

I shrugged. "You're just the same as before," I said. "I don't see why this makes a difference."

He opened his mouth to reply but no sound came out.

I suddenly was filled with a need for mischief. "Dance with me?" I asked. It wasn't really a question.

Norrington jumped out of his reverie and gave a short bark of laughter. "Pardon?"

I indicated where the others were dancing. "Please dance?"

"But you don't dance," he said, seeming surprised.

"Just because I can't doesn't mean I won't," I replied promptly.

"But I don't dance," he said, with a hint of panic creeping in his voice.

"I've seen you dance loads of times at things in Port Royal," I pointed out.

"That was compulsory merriment," he said.

He was eyeing the crowd of sailors watching the dancing and visibly shrinking from the thought.

"Please?" I said. "It will do you good."

He was so distant and lifeless, even more than he'd been when I'd known him. I wanted to bring some emotion to his eyes.

I stared pleadingly at him and I knew his honour compelled him to take my hand and lead me out onto the deck where Annabel and Gillette, Elizabeth and Will, and a couple of sailors already danced.

He did, noting my triumphant expression with a spark of annoyance in his own.

"You're cruel," he muttered into my ear as we took position on the deck in line of the crew's amused stares and a couple of wolf whistles.

I smiled but ignored him, focusing on my feet. I caught grinning looks exchanged between the others but I tried to ignore them as well and fought my always ready blush.

"You're actually quite a good dancer," I observed, breaking the silence after a moment.

"You're not as bad as you make out," he answered straight away.

Flustered, I was knocked out of my rhythm and accidentally trod on his foot.

He laughed at that, the first proper laugh I had heard him give in a long time and my heart did a little dance too.

"Sorry," I said, stumbling back in an attempt to not stamp on his foot anymore.

"Don't worry," he said evenly, pulling me gently back and holding my by the arms. "Stand like this," he told me, and I quickly adjusted my position.

There had never been much cause for me to dance as his maid, so this was rather a novel experience for me.

"Better," he noted, "mind your footwork."

I did as I was told, resisting the urge to just flop down onto his shoulder.

"Dancing is much like swordplay," he commented lazily.

I laughed. "I guess I'm not much good at either then," I said.

He smiled gently. "Practise, all you need is practise."

I smiled back, feeling ridiculously comfortable just swaying to the music beside him. A little way off the sailors were still watching us with amused interest but I didn't really mind, my initial embarrassment had completely dissolved, replaced by complete contentment.

"Practise," I murmured dreamily, liking the prospect of that very much.

"It's a good thing you're light," Norrington suddenly said.

I snapped out of my pensive mood. "Why?" I asked.

"Because you keep treading on my foot," came the amused reply.

xXx

* * *

_A/N: They danced! XD *ahmm*_

_Anyways, thanks for reading. I hope you are all enjoying reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it. Reviews are always muchly appreciated, mates. :)_


	12. Leaving

Monday. 3.50pm.

The _Flying Dutchman._

And so my adventures came to an end.

It was long expected but felt sudden all the same, and I found to my surprise that the thought of giving up my unpredictable adventure for my old life of mundane safety was very unappealing.

I was shocked to realise that I would miss it.

And of course I would miss him.

I was more than loathe to leave him that morning on the _Flying Dutchman._ My heart had sunk as in the distance land appeared and we found ourselves near my home.

I didn't want to go home.

The last few days on the ship had passed in a kind of hazy happiness, of which it was difficult to distinguish individual events from the general wonderfulness of it.

I spent it almost wholly in James Norrington's company, and the beautiful thing was he didn't seem to mind.

He could be reserved, held back, unresponsive and generally difficult to talk to at times, but he could also be gallant, kind, clever and interesting.

He showed me around the _Flying Dutchman, _describing in detail the true purpose of the mythical ship, sitting with me in the evenings, dutifully listening to me talk and somehow making me feel at home on the ship, incidentally the first that hadn't sunk as soon as I stepped on it.

If I hadn't been infatuated with him before, I assure you I would have been afterwards, and my renewed regard made the thought of leaving even more painful.

"I don't want to go." I had tried that morning but there was no fire in my words. We'd had this argument before.

"You have to," Norrington replied calmly.

He was standing by the ship's rail watching the land approach with no visible emotion in his eyes.

The land seemed to approach so quickly but time had been playing tricks on me recently. The journey here had seemed to stretch into eternity but the return trip passed in the blink of an eye.

"You'll visit me?" I asked, keeping hold of my priorities.

Norrington hesitated and I immediately snapped at him. "If you don't you know I'll only come looking for you again."

He seemed faintly amused by my sudden venom. "I swear you never used to be so opinionated when I knew you," he said with a laugh.

My anger was replaced with playfulness. "It's all these pirates I've been spending time with, they have corrupted me," I told him with a theatrical sigh.

He smiled sadly. "What will I do with you?" he said, almost to himself. "I guess I shall have to visit you then," he relented.

His tone of voice got to me, it almost sounded like real regret.

"You don't have to," I said, frowning.

He didn't say anything and I ploughed on with that train of thought, suddenly strangely worried and deciding to inarticulately bare my heart.

"I don't want you to think you have to if you really don't want to. You shouldn't feel obliged to me in any way or bound to me just because I –" I trailed off, unsure how to continue.

Instead, rather helplessly, I looked up into his eyes and was surprised to find them full of mirth.

"What?" I asked, bemused and irritated by his amusement.

"You can be silly sometimes," he said with a smile.

I bristled and replied rather stiffly, "So you keep telling me."

He laughed at my hurt expression and to my great surprise pulled me into a warm hug.

"Oh," I said intelligently, my annoyance disappearing immediately.

As I found myself in his enveloping embrace, I momentarily forgot I would be forced to leave him soon. I forgot where we were and what we had gone through to get here, frankly I'm surprised I didn't forget my own name.

"I will visit you," he whispered, "I promise."

I couldn't help grinning and burying myself deeper into his chest, feeling more comfortable there than I'd felt anywhere in a long while.

"We're getting them into the boats now, Admiral," a polite voice interrupted.

I sighed, not wanting to leave the comfort of his arms, wanting the moment to go on forever. He too didn't seem to want to let go and he did so slowly, leaving an arm lingering around my shoulders before letting it drop and turning to organise the departure.

I felt oddly naked standing on my own, and obscurely vulnerable.

The full implications of leaving the _Flying Dutchman _were finally creeping up on me, and the thought of being on my own again was slightly daunting.

I realised I had spent four years trying to prove to myself I didn't need James Norrington, setting up my own business, creating my own home, only to discover that when it came down to it, I did need him. I couldn't even find a reason.

"We're going home." Annabel's exited voice cut through my thoughts as she bounced up on deck.

Then she saw my expression and switched her grin to a frown of concern.

It struck me as strange how each of us depending on their individual situations could view this same moment so differently.

Right now I was desolate, while Annabel, Ted and Gillette where just pleased to be going home.

And Elizabeth was heartbroken.

The look on her face showed a heartache that made mine feel small in comparison. Not that my own feelings didn't hurt, but her look of dull resigned hopelessness managed to upset me more than my problems did.

The problem was her whole situation was so pointless. Will was bound to _the Flying Dutchman _and could only step on land one day every ten years, but there was no logical purpose to it and nothing anyone could do about it.

"It's time to go," Norrington said, coming back to stand beside me.

He saw my expression and guessed the turn of my thoughts.

"There's nothing you can do," he said gently.

"It's so stupid," I complained. "The curse doesn't achieve anything except breaking a couples' hearts."

As usual he was completely calm in the face of my anger. "I'm sorry too," he said.

"But why is it like this?" I demanded.

"Why?" he asked. "I've never really thought about that before."

Evidently no one had.

There had to be a reason, or some purpose to it, but not one I could think of then. And surely there had to be a way around the curse, they couldn't be expected to live out their days only seeing each other once a decade.

As I was preoccupied contemplating the fate of my friends and reflecting on my own uselessness in the matter, I didn't really notice Norrington take the opportunity to steer me towards the boat where Annabel, Ted and Gillette already waited.

I didn't notice until I was nearly in the boat, and realising belatedly that the time to leave had finally caught up with me, I almost panicked.

Spinning on my heels I turned and bumped straight into Norrington who grabbed me by the shoulders, stopping me bolting and looked soothingly into my faintly wild eyes.

I composed myself with difficulty. "I'll see you again," I said, my voice steadier than I would have expected.

He nodded, helping me into the boat. The moment was quite cordial but a bit distant, an echo of when he'd been avoiding me.

Perhaps he thought it better to leave on a less intimate note.

Of course I understood that. Of course it didn't nearly break my little heart.

"Goodbye," he said politely.

Maybe he saw my desperate expression or maybe it was for a completely different reason, but I never got to reply as Norrington unexpectedly bent down to take my face in his hands and kissed me gently on my forehead.

My breath caught in my throat, trapping my goodbye with it, and I found myself wholly unable to say anything as the boat was cast off.

As we started drifting apart, I made a fruitless attempt to keep together the scattered pieces of my heart, but in reality the small kiss I had received helped infinitely to that end.

"Goodbye," I managed to whisper.

By now he couldn't hear me, but it didn't really matter.

He stood on the _Flying Dutchman,_ getting slowly further and further away from me. He didn't wave or signal at all in my direction but neither did he move away, and I knew his outwardly calm eyes followed me till we reached the shore.

My adventures were officially over. James Norrington was gone again. I was home.

And in the boat beside me Elizabeth silently started to cry.

xXx

_A/N: That was the second to last chapter, folks. Thanks for sticking with this so far; I really appreciate everyone's feedback! Please keep reviewing! And thanks to Nytd for betaing again, again, agian. _

_Have a nice week. :)_


	13. Beginnings

Wednesday. 4.30pm.

Portsmouth. The Admiral's Tea Shop.

Today is exactly five years since the death of Admiral James Norrington.

It's strange how little that date seems to matter anymore.

The teashop was filled with the most unusual gathering of people I had seen in a long time.

The bulk of them were sailors, some obviously navy men and others probably pirates. Then there were a couple of young women, myself included, a five year old boy, a cursed captain and finally my regulars, self-confessed gossip loving old women who sipped tea, largely oblivious to odd assortment of people around them, blissfully unaware that more than half of them were in fact, deceased.

It was biggest crowd I had ever had in my humble teashop and by far the rowdiest.

Thankfully, the people of Hampshire were used to my slightly odd ways by now, and the horde of sailors who had unexpectedly turned up and piled into my shop this morning had hardly attracted a raised eyebrow.

I welcomed them as usual, pleased but disorganised. The _Flying Dutchman_ and its crew didn't seem to think of warning me before striding straight into my life, but somehow the unpredictability of their visits made me cherish them even more.

"Don't you have anything stronger than tea?" Bill Turner asked me rather pointedly as he and the crew gathered on the doorstep.

I screwed my face into a frown. "This is a respectable establishment, not a tavern," I admonished him.

"We'll go if you don't want us," James Norrington interrupted pleasantly.

I pretended to think about it when actually I was used to this conversation by now. "No, don't go," I said, with feigned reluctance. "I'm sure I can find something for you to drink."

I rummaged around in the cupboard and found something that would suffice. Trying to keep my excitement at them being here calm, I handed them out among the crew, amused by their reactions. They acted like they hadn't had a decent drink in years, which when I thought about it was probably almost true.

There was a noise at the door and I looked up to see the captain, Will Turner, step tentatively into the room; he looked a little worried and slightly bemused. Apparently he wasn't quite used to things around here yet.

Come to think of it, neither was I.

Then from the room behind me, there was a thunder of footsteps and little Billy Turner ran past, almost knocking over his father at the door. He was quickly followed by his mother who, regardless of propriety, threw herself after her son onto her husband as well.

I grinned; my day had gone from normal and entirely predictable to more complicated but infinitely more appealing.

I'd been waiting for the _Flying Dutchman_ to return to my door almost since the day it had last left. It was quite sad how much I looked forward to it, and quite amusing how unprepared I really was for it.

But apart from that it seems my plan worked.

You see, my little teashop, complete with kitchen, bedroom, spare room and bathroom, was now perched permanently, and to the great amusement of the good people of Portsmouth, on a boat, which floated a little way out of the bay.

A houseboat, or rather, a teashop boat.

And as you know, a boat isn't technically land, so technically a certain cursed captain can stay here, as long as he also does his job, without any worry.

Simple.

The best plans usually are.

I've always thought life was over complicated. In my opinion most problems can be solved with a dose of common sense, a little intuition and a nice cup of tea.

That philosophy certainly worked this time.

xXx

If someone had told me a while ago that this was how my story would end up, I would have probably laughed at them, but now it all seemed so natural and, quite bizarrely, normal.

Looking at the laughing, chatting and lively crowd, it was difficult to believe they could be anything but alive.

It seemed that somehow the atmosphere of the teashop had bought them to life regardless. It had become our own little oasis where harsh reality could be locked out for a time. It was a place where little things like death wouldn't be a problem in a relationship.

I'm just glad I was never one for normal relationships, or I am quite sure this would drive me completely insane.

Unconsciously I looked around my strange little family, silently peering into their individual worlds.

At the back of the room some of the crew had started conversing with my old ladies, and the poor dears were looking thoroughly charmed.

Elizabeth and Will were talking softly in the corner with Bill and Billy Turner speaking earnestly a little way off.

While at the counter down from me, I saw Gillette ineptly flirting with Annabel, much to the amusement of both parties.

I could have written a novel on the various stories going on around me, but right now it was my own story I was interested in.

Across the room from me James Norrington sat with the crew, silently listening to their chatter. Even after everything I was almost surprised to see him here, and I couldn't help smiling at the thought.

Everything changed, but he was still a constant in my life.

He must have felt my eyes on him and he glanced up, our gazes colliding in the air. I couldn't look away quick enough and he must have caught my openly adoring smile. His expression was unreadable for a moment, then almost hesitantly, he smiled before looking away hastily.

I flicked my eyes away and fixed them on the counter in front of me while forcing my brain not to think, knowing that if I did I would run away with that smile and make it into something it wasn't.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Norrington unfolded from his seat. I knew he normally liked to sit with his men, half to set an example, and half to not be so aloof for a time. Just sitting and taking the time to talk with them was a fairly simple but effective way of gaining some of their respect.

I wondered what he was doing and where he was going to sit now. I couldn't think of anything he'd rather be doing than sitting with the crew.

That is why I was rather surprised when he came a dropped down onto a chair opposite me.

"Admiral," I said, caught off guard, "I was just thinking about you."

"Really?" he replied, sounding intrigued.

I bit my tongue, cursing it.

"Thinking on my many faults I'd wager," he said, making a concerted attempt at merriment, possibly to help my embarrassment.

I managed a nod and a smile, knowing he was trying to make me feel a little more at ease and loving him for it.

He started to smile, but then he paused, thinking. "Wait," he said, "I forget you actually know my faults."

I laughed, and he did smile openly at that. Working for him for as many years as I had had given me a fairly comprehensive knowledge of his failings, and yet when he gave me that rare smile I invariably managed to forget them all.

"Remember I know your faults too," he added.

I'd never really thought about that before. I blushed some more.

"And yet you are still here," I finally managed to point out.

"No one else would have me," he said quickly.

I started to smile then paused, looking for the hurt behind the dry humour. I was surprised to find none.

I didn't have time to ponder that as he kept right on talking.

"Does this teashop serve tea?" he asked.

"Of course," I replied, perturbed. Then I realised he was asking for a cup of tea in a characteristically round about way, stepping neatly over a direct question.

Relived to have an excuse to escape his silent steady gaze, I turned to make the tea. There was an intense silence that always seemed to follow Norrington around. It wasn't uncomfortable; in fact, I was so used to it now it almost seemed friendly, but it did unnerve me nonetheless.

I needn't have worried though, as the look I got as I passed him the tea was warm and unguarded, and I nearly dropped the cup as our hands brushed momentarily.

While attempting to recover my normal pulse rate, I watched Norrington take the tea and slowly, almost reverently, raise the cup to his lips. He inhaled deeply, apparently savouring the aroma.

"You have no idea how long it is since I last had a decent cup of tea," he told me.

I tried to look serious but couldn't help having to stifle a giggle.

He looked hurt at my amusement. "It's true," he said.

Then he started playing with the handle of the cup, looking pensive. "That's one thing I did miss about you," he reflected carelessly. "Your tea."

I wasn't sure whether to be pleased or insulted, and I struggled to come up with a response to that.

"Tea?" I finally managed to reply, my disbelief written across my features. "Is that all you missed about me?"

He didn't answer; his lip twitched slightly, but overall he managed to keep his face clear, and shrugging, he disappeared into the cup of tea.

I'd forgotten how well he'd always known how to annoy me.

Pretending to be more offended than I was, I left him and went into the kitchen to wash up a couple of glasses. I was surprised to see he followed me, and we found ourselves alone in the kitchen.

He leant on the doorway, intently watching me wash up. I tried to focus on my work, but he was such a distraction. He was virtually breathing down my neck.

Flustered, I accidentally slopped water onto the floor then jerked away as the warm water hit my foot. A glass slipped out if my hand, shattering on the tiles, and I jumped, almost landing in Norrington's arms.

He smiled wryly. "Let me," he offered, and stood me to one side as he quickly cleared up the glass.

I ordered my heart to be calm. I honestly don't think I'd ever felt this flustered in my life. My distress caused me to say something predictably stupid.

"What will the others think?" I asked nervously. "About us. In here. Alone."

I thought I had offended him, and worriedly I tried to read his expressionless face, but he didn't seem upset as he replied, "That sort of thing is not important anymore. Death really does change your perspective on things."

His answer didn't help my situation at all; I nearly melted then and there.

I gave a half sigh, half sob and wished Norrington would go away before I really managed to embarrass myself. I knew I was blushing furiously and my pulse was hammering in my ears.

Norrington seemed oblivious though, and after clearing up the mess, he turned back to me hesitantly, taking my small hands in his.

"You're very warm," he said, sounding surprised.

I laughed brittlely, my nervousness coming out fairly eloquently in it.

He half smiled at that, and for the first I noticed he looked nearly as nervous as me.

We were very close now, and I saw Norrington frown. "I can feel your heart beat," he said again, sounding like this was a surprise.

Somehow this saddened me, and without really thinking, I took his hand and placed it over my heart.

We froze like that for a moment, standing facing each other with his hand on my heart and my hand still on his.

He started to lean towards me, and I found myself trapped by his eyes, unable to move. Slowly he dropped his hand from my chest and placed it on the back of my head, starting to pull me gently but unstoppably closer. He had possibly figured the only way to move me from my hypnotised state was by force.

Needless to say I didn't mind.

My mind started screaming something at me, but I ignored it. My thoughts were usually rather tiresome and I was currently engaged in something much more interesting.

My lips hovered inches from his and I hesitated, but then I rebelled and gave in simultaneously.

Shutting my eyes, I leant forward to kiss James Norrington.

"Admiral!"

We froze.

I nearly bit my tongue.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a sailor off the _Flying Dutchman_, I think his name was Cooper, standing panting in the doorway.

"What?" Norrington asked his voice terse.

"The captain wants to see you, sir. Apparently it's urgent," he gasped.

I sighed and started to pull away but Norrington wouldn't move, instead he weaved his fingers tighter into my hair, holding me in place.

"I'm a little busy at the moment," Norrington told Cooper.

I giggled and Norrington looked sideways at me, apparently not seeing the funny side of this.

"But sir," Cooper interrupted, "we have to go. We have to do something! Captain Jack Sparrow has found the Fountain of Youth. It's a disaster!"

Norrington sighed, muttered something under his breath that I won't repeat, then let go of me, stepping stiffly away.

"I have to go," he began, sounding pleasingly reluctant.

I tried a smile, attempting to hide the sudden desolate feeling that filled me when I thought of him leaving.

"When I get hold of _Captain_ Sparrow, I'll kill him," he promised. There was a special twist to his mouth as he said 'captain' which made me smile.

"Don't take too long," I replied, amused but feeling a little forlorn all the same.

"I won't," he said earnestly, "and I'll be back."

I knew he would, and that simple fact, after so much trouble and confusion on the road here, sustained me.

Meanwhile Cooper seemed to have just noticed me.

"Miss Annie," he said politely, "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything."

He was completely sincere and I would have laughed if I hadn't been quite so depressed.

"No, Cooper," I said wearily, "you weren't interrupting anything."

If only he knew.

xXx

Wednesday. 7.50pm.

Portsmouth. The Admiral's Tea Shop.

The _Flying Dutchman_ was gone again, leaving me with a major amount of washing up to do.

I have to admit to being a little annoyed about the way the _Flying Dutchman _seemed be quite content to breeze into my life, mess it up, then race off after some pirate.

I'd be lying to myself if I said I really minded though. I think the perks of this little life far out way the problems.

I did know that, judging by the events of today my life was not going to be what I would call conventional, especially when you play hostess to a group of undead sailors every once in a while, but I honestly didn't mind.

It wasn't quite the life I'd always dreamed of having, but some dreams are more important than others.

Undoubtedly I was looking forward to things.

xXx

Some unimportant months later.

Saturday. 3.15pm.

Portsmouth. The Docks.

The ship limped into port, ignoring the fact it was broad daylight and everyone and anyone could see them.

The locals paid little attention anyway, and, as Elizabeth had taken Billy to see his aunt, I was the only person who congregated on the jetty to meet them.

To me they looked like they'd been dunked in the sea a few times then fed slowly and carefully through a ringer.

The_ Flying Dutchman_ herself was in pressing need of repairs, and the crew each wore a strange mixture of amusement and shock on their faces.

James came first as Will couldn't leave the ship, his uniform was bedraggled and he appeared to have managed to lose his wig, not a bad thing in my opinion.

I realised suddenly that I thought of him as James now and not Norrington. I am sure this is some kind of important mental leap for me, but the change had been so subtle that I hadn't even noticed when I'd started doing it.

Banishing my wonder at that, I turned my attention back to James, who was wandering towards me a look of bemused embarrassment on his face.

A question was obvious in my half amused, half alarmed expression as I started towards him too.

"Jack Sparrow," he said simply.

That was explanation enough.

I bit back the urge to laugh and managed to nod sagely instead. I thought it best not to ask any more questions right then, as I was sure I'd hear the whole story when the rum started to inevitably flow later.

Taking James by the arm, I steered him in the general direction of my home, then beckoned to the rest of the crew. I patted him comfortingly on the arm.

"I'll go put the kettle on," I decided.

I knew from experience, that, when in doubt, you should always make a cup of tea.

xXx

* * *

_To TheFugeeLa, thank you so much for your lovely review! I can't reply personally so I'll put it here. :) I'm really pleased you liked this and the first story and I'm so glad you loved Annie! Thanks for taking the time to review! :D_

_To Pirate Hero, thanks for your great review too! I'm really happy you enjoyed this. Maybe she will write another. ;)_

_A/N: So there you have it. I really hope you enjoyed the story, it was certainly fun to write but I fear my teachers have seen a sad dip in my grades, as my priorities seem to have been rather wrong when it came to updates or homework. Oops._

_Anyway a couple of thank yous, firstly all the credit for improvements in grammar, spelling and coherency go to my wonderful beta Nytd, then a large scream of thanks to anyone and everyone who read or reviewed. This is your last chance to review by the way.. :)_

_Thanks for reading. Have a great week!_

_~Damsel =D_


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